Heart's a Mess
Author:Scott, Kylie

Heart's a Mess by Scott, Kylie






Chapter One



Brisbane, Australia




The sun was shining and birds were singing. And maybe, just maybe, if Alex pressed his face hard enough into the pillow, he’d be able to suffocate himself and put an end to the pounding inside his head. It was worth a try.


Such a pity, because the rest of him felt fan-fucking-tastic, oddly enough. But sweet merciful mother did his brain hurt. It easily drowned out all the bliss and happy emanating from the neck down. Those sensations barely registered, apart from a certain lethargy in his muscles. It might have been relaxation, hard to tell.


He knew better than to let his little brother talk him into throwing a party. Sure as shit he knew better than to drink that much. Thirty-seven was too old to be acting the ass, a freshly divorced thirty-seven at that. No matter how cranky he might still be about that whole situation he had no excuse.


Alex rolled onto his back, throwing an arm across his face to ward off the searing brilliance of the day. Something silky soft slid across his chin, catching on his stubble. He dared a peek, flinching at the blinding brightness. But it didn’t stop him from noticing the dark gray satin and lace beside him. A bra. In fact, one strap had wrapped itself tightly around his wrist.


What the fuck?


There’d been no cross-dressing. He’d remember that. He’d definitely remember that.


The bed held no one but him, now. Sometime during the night he’d rolled into the middle of the mattress. He always started on the right-hand side out of habit. Jane had liked the left. But he’d wake up spread across the middle every morning, alone as ever.


Last night’s events were a haze past a certain point, about when the shots of vodka started. Ciroc, his favorite. Such a damn good drop. Come closing time, people had flooded the Southern Cross Bar and the private upstairs apartment. Seems word of Duncan’s afterhours party had magically spread far and wide. Instead of kicking people out at the end of the night, they’d wound up letting them in. Upon reflection, not the best idea they’d ever had. He’d blame it on the shots.


He and his two brothers had inherited the Southern Cross Bar and Restaurant from their parents a decade back. Alex had been sharing the apartment with his younger brother and fellow bartender, Duncan, for the past year. Ever since he’d found his beloved wife blowing someone in their bed. He slapped the thought aside before the memory could take root in his mind and mess with him again.


What happened last night?


Duncan enjoyed partying a bit too much, truth be told. He wasn’t the best choice of flatmate. Their elder brother and head cook, John, had a house a few blocks away but he made obsessive-compulsive control freaks look liberal. No way could Alex stay there without fratricide being committed. Surviving childhood with the uptight idiot had been hard enough. Usually he managed to avoid Duncan’s parties but last night, he’d succumbed. Something about receiving the final papers had done him in. There’d been relief, but other stuff too. Letting loose had made perfect sense at the time.


But how the hell had he ended up covered in lingerie?


Alex turned onto his side and sniffed the nearest pillow. Some faint flowery scent rose up to greet him and his heart jumped about in his chest.


No. Not possible. Or was it?


Rising up on one elbow, he looked around. An open empty condom wrapper sat on the bedside table.


Huh. Wow.


“Yes!” He punched the air, bra swinging wildly about. His cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. Fuck, he felt like he could sing. The evidence was irrefutable and the joy in his heart unending. His ex hadn’t managed to neuter him after all. The drought was broken but his dick was not.


Oh, thank God for that.


He’d been worried. Hell, he’d been scared. There’d been no signs of life from his libido in over a year. Blonde, brunette, tall or short, didn’t matter. No reaction. Nil. Nothing, up until now.


He sagged back against the mattress with an almighty sigh. What a wonderful day.


If his mystery bed buddy had stayed he’d have sucked on her toes, licked her pussy and done her all over again, twice. Then he’d have cooked her breakfast and written her bad poetry.


He held the bra up, inspecting it carefully. Judging by the size, his mystery lady most definitely had curves. It smelt faintly of feminine sweat and the same soft, floral perfume. He tested the flimsy material between his fingers. It looked expensive, well made. Any money there was matching panties to go with it. Thong or bikini? Boy-leg perhaps?


Just the thought sent his blood surging south. He wrapped a hand around his hard-on and gave it a squeeze. Damn that felt good. Ah, virility. He remembered it well. Never again would he take it for granted.


Man, he loved her, whoever she was. He wanted more. He needed it.


And clearly, no one else would do.